Eight Ball
by Tilthesunturnsblack
Summary: The Glee Cast make up two rival factions of special-ops mercenaries. Can they come together to take on the job of a life time? Mostly Brittana centric POVs and storyline. Don't own glee or anything!
1. Chapter 1

**This chapter is just a teaser; the rest will be longer. Please review and I hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 1:**

Santana stood in front of her dresser, swaying her hips back and forth lightly to the rhythmic rattle of maracas that was emitting from her stereo. Clad only in her matching black lace bra and panties, she danced absentmindedly over to her closet as she contemplated her wardrobe, deciding what would best suit the thick, Jamaican heat. Santana's rocking hips froze in place as she heard the muffled click of the catch on her sliding glass door falling into place. In an instant, every fiber of her being tensed; every muscle coiled, ready to spring. She slowed and softened her breathing, allowing herself to hear better, and she widened her eyes, waiting for the slightest movement to infringe upon her peripheral vision…and she wasn't disappointed. A shadow flickered on the wall to her left from the sun filtering in through the sliding door.

Instantaneously, the Latina turned on the spot, striking out with a clenched fist at the attacker she knew was right behind her. She saw a blur of golden locks as the lithe figure dodged her blow and pranced backward out of her reach. Remaining in her fighting stance, Santana glared at her equally anticipatory opponent.

"Don't even get a hello, Lopez?" The blonde quipped, her devilish smirk stealing all the way up to her twinkling blue eyes. Santana's eyes did a cursory glance, sizing up her rival. The woman was tall, probably four or five inches more so than Santana. She had a lean, muscled frame and creamy white skin. Her flowing blonde locks were tucked into a neat pony tail that ended in a shivering wisp between her shoulder blades. Her eyes were a clear, crisp shade of baby blue, and they glinted in a frustratingly intoxicating way. Her nose was long and straight and she had high, but gentle cheekbones. There was the lightest smattering of sun-induced freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her lips were thin and pink as the flesh on the inside of a strawberry. She wore a simple, white, v-neck t-shirt, a well-worn pair of brown leather, fingerless knuckle gloves, khaki safari shorts and her feet were secured in sturdy, ankle consuming, brown combat boots. She smiled a straight, toothy grin at Santana, and raised her hand, curling the index finger towards herself. Even in her underwear, Santana was never one to back down from a challenge.

Without pause, Santana lunged for the top drawer of her dresser, desperate to get to the small blade she kept there. She whipped open the drawer to see her baby nestled firmly amongst thongs and boy shorts of every fabric and color. The dagger was an extension of her hand, a part of her. The curved, textured handle that provided maximum traction for her hands, no matter how sweaty. The cool, hard glint of the always-polished 6-inch blade. Her fingertips just glanced the handle when she felt a vice-like grip on her bicep and was unceremoniously yanked backward. As she back stepped, the blonde swept her leg swiftly, taking Santana's right out from under her. The Latina hit the floor with a wall-shaking thud, and the air was crushed from her lungs. The blonde wheeled to straddle the helpless brunette below her, her clenched fist already speeding towards her face in a blur of cream and brown. The flesh asteroid plummeting towards her snapped Santana to her senses and she swiftly curled her knees to her chest, rocked her weight back, then forward, and powered the soles of her feet directly into the blonde's sternum. The blonde gave a startled "oomph" as Santana's feet crashed into her and she stumbled backward. Continuing her forward motion, Santana sprang spryly to her feet. Once up, she took a full on run at the startled blonde whose back was now to the wall. Clasping her right wrist with her own left hand, Santana locked her shoulder and elbow and used the solid bone of her right forearm like a battering ram, powering into her assailant's neck and pinning her firmly against the wall. The blonde grunted as her spine sent a cloud of white plaster dust flying like snow from the wall. Santana's mouth was contorted in an evil sneer as she watched her helpless pray grimace and squirm under her furious hold.

The blonde opened her mouth, but instead of being sworn at or surrendered to as she had expected, Santana was met with an eyeball full of spit.

"Aaagh!" She cried, the sheer velocity with which the saliva had hit her eye was both impressive, and painful. Instinctively, both hands shot up to cover her profusely watering eye socket, and that's when the blonde made her move. Acting swiftly, the blonde grabbed one of Santana's wrists, gripping tightly, twisting it so that it jutted at a painfully awkward angle, and spun Santana away from her, bringing her arm back and up, pinning it between Santana's shoulder blades. Then, her remaining hand reached up and seized a fistful of thick, raven hair, right by the roots. Santana shrieked loudly in pain, still semi blinded. Already knowing she had been defeated, the feisty Latina still gave one last effort to shirk the powerful blonde, but the searing pain in her shoulder put a quick halt to her escape efforts. Then Santana felt smooth lips glance the shell of her ear.

"Tut tut tut. Always so feisty, Lopez." Santana growled deep within her throat, and the blonde chuckled. "Will you ever learn to just be a good girl and submit?" The blonde asked innocently.

"Fuck you," Santana hissed through clenched teeth. The blonde's jaw clenched and her mouth pressed into a hard line as she gave a sharp yank on Santana's hair, exposing the caramel skin of the brunette's neck. A sharp exhale hissed between Santana's teeth and she winced at the shooting pain rippling over her scalp.

"Where are your manners?" The blonde asked firmly, pressing her body flush against Santana's. "I guess since clearly nobody taught you how to behave…I'll have to." The blonde surged forward and placed a swift bite on the Latina's neck, applying enough pressure to ensure there would be a mark. Santana struggled furiously, trying her best to detach the lips from her skin, but to no avail due to the fingers firmly knotted in her tresses.

"If you just held still," the blonde muttered against Santana's neck, "this would all be soooo much easier." She finally let go of Santana's hair, but not with out a warning upward push against Santana's captive arm, eliciting a pained cry from the brunette. Her free hand traced gently down the gentle curve of Santana's shoulder, the smooth plain of her back, the tight, muscled mound of her ass, and down the back of her toned thigh. Bringing her hand around, she stroked up the same thigh until she got to the intersection of Santana's hip and pelvic bone. The blonde hooked her finger through the thin, lace strap of Santana's panties.

"I'm going to remove these. Hope you don't mind." The blonde smirked knowingly.

"Bite me, bitch." Santana snarled. Again, the blonde only clicked her tongue bemusedly at the Latina's wrath, and resumed the gentle tugging downward of the delicate fabric.

When the door burst open and the frame was filled with the burly, mohawked figure of Noah Puckerman. The blonde's hand froze, Santana's panties halfway down her thighs and her sex clearly exposed.

"Ah! Jesus Christ would you cover her up!" Puck yelled, wildly turning his head and shielding his eyes. "For fuck's sake!" Puck yelled, "Santana, put some clothes on. You two are going to have to act out your twisted sexual fantasies some other time because we just got a call. Get your shit together; we roll out in twenty minutes."


	2. Chapter 2

**Hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter and thank you so much for reading! Please review if you can, they really make my day. Enjoy the new chapter **

**Chapter 2:**

The door slammed with Puck's exit and Brittany dropped her hands reluctantly from where they hovered over an exposed and thoroughly aroused Santana. The Latina sighed frustratedly in response and hitched her panties back up. She chuckled under her breath as she watched the lanky blonde skulk over to the bed and fall back on it exasperatedly, her forearms crossing over her eyes and her bottom lip jutting out in a mock-pout. Santana tip toed over to her, and a foot from the bed, she pounced; flying through the air and landing with her knees and hands on either side of the blonde's torso, straddling her. Brittany removed her arms and opened one eye, peering inquisitively at the scantily clad woman above her.

"Come on, B. Don't be sad," Santana cooed, stroking her thumb over the gentle ridge of Brittany's cheekbone. The blonde closed the eye again and growled through gritted teeth,

"I'm not sad, I'm sexually frustrated." Santana couldn't help but chuckle again, and Brittany's eyes snapped open with a stony look when she heard her. "It's not funny, San! We never get our sweet lady kisses on anymore!"

"Brittany," Santana sighed, rolling her eyes and sitting back on her haunches, crossing her arms underneath her bra, which delightfully pushed up her plump breasts, much to Brittany's chagrin, "we had sex two days ago!"

"Well…yeah," the blonde mused, "but we used to do it every day before we joined the team! Now we're lucky if its five days a week!" Santana laughed again, but stopped as soon as she saw the lip thrusted out further and the disdainful look in Brittany's eyes.

"Aw, I'm sorry Britt, it's not funny, you're right." She apologized, leaning down and placing her mouth only inches from the blonde's. "I promise I'll make it up to you tonight." She whispered, her voice dropping a register or two. Brittany's eyes immediately snapped open, her face holding a slightly startled look when she found how close her lover now was. She studied Santana's face for a moment before smiling and leaning up to peck her on the lips. But Santana wasn't satisfied with a peck. She grasped Brittany's bottom lip between her teeth, not letting her retreat. Brittany grunted in surprise and pleasure, and responded with a deeper kiss. Santana's hands immediately went to the hem of Brittany's shirt and found their way underneath the simple, white cotton, and she scraped her nails gently over the smooth, taught skin of Brittany's abdomen.

"Mmm…San…" Brittany panted, "we have to go, you heard Puck." Santana pulled back only briefly to lock her deep brown eyes, now almost black with lust, on Brittany's sky blue ones.

"Five minutes," she husked, and dove back down to Brittany's lips. That was all it took. A deep, guttural, growl ripped through Brittany's throat and her hands were on Santana's thighs, and she stood, picking the Latina up and beginning to carry her over to Santana's desk. Santana detached her lips from Brittany's to release a gasp, and then a laugh at the pleasant surprise. She wrapped her legs firmly around Brittany's waist and looped her arms around her neck and was once again kissing the blonde furiously. Santana's tongue delved into the warm recesses of Brittany's mouth, sliding it over her front teeth and then battling against the blonde's own tongue. Brittany moaned and slid her hands back further to squeeze Santana's barely-covered ass. Soon, instead of the warm cupping of Brittany's hands, Santana's rear was greeted by the cool, smooth mahogany of her desk. The blonde towered over her this way, so Santana grabbed Brittany by the ponytail and gave a mischievous smirk before yanking the blonde's mouth to her own. Brittany wasted no time and her hands shot downward to cup Santana through her panties, already slick with arousal. Santana moved her mouth to Brittany's jaw line, placing firm kisses and territorial bites, as her hands flew out and began to rapidly undo the clasp at the front of Brittany's shorts. Her arousal furthered, Brittany pushed aside the Latina's panties and plunged two fingers inside her lover, sparing no time for pleasantries. Santana cried out loudly and her fingers stumbled over the clasp as she was taken by the unexpected invasion. However, she was hindered for only a moment and then her dexterous digits were once again at work, finishing off the clasp and zipper and yanking the shorts to the floor with one swift movement. She removed herself from Brittany's jaw to look down and gaze at Brittany's supple hips, encircled by tight, black boxer-briefs. Santana licked her lips; now it was her turn. Santana's hand worked its way inside the convenient flap in the front of Brittany's briefs, and immediately felt the damp heat that had been accumulating there. She moaned at the knowledge of just how wet she was able to make Brittany, and began to make gentle circles around Brittany's clit. Brittany groaned, and thanked God that she had worn these conveniently accessible underwear today. Brittany rocked her hips into the gentle, but deliberate motions of Santana's hands, while she contrarily pummeled the gasping Latina with her powerful, purposeful thrusts. As the adrenaline from Brittany's arousal increased the rate and raw force with which she entered the raven haired beauty, Santana soon began to scream, not able to contain her pleasure any longer.

"_Oh yeah, B. Right there. Harder. Harder! Oh Britt, oo-oh, ah, ah!_" Santana's hips now bucked furiously into her lover's hand and the desk was hammering against the wall with the force of their lust. Santana had no sooner buried two fingers deep inside the blonde when she heard,

"I can hear you two fucking in there!" Puck's voice rang out angrily as he pounded on the door. "Cut the shit! We are leaving NOW!"

"Fuck!" Brittany growled, as she stopped her motions and slumped her head against Santana's shoulder. The irate Latina stroked her blonde hair and bellowed at the man on the other side of the door,

"Fuck you, Puckerman!" she heard a derisive snort,

"Maybe later, sweetcheeks!" he retorted. Santana's teeth clenched viciously as

Brittany reluctantly removed her fingers from Santana, and Santana did the same. Santana cupped Brittany's cheeks and pulled her in for a chaste kiss. When she pulled back she looked into the annoyed blue eyes apologetically,

"Later. I promise." She smiled and Brittany couldn't help but return it.

"Ok. Later. But you are _so_ gonna get it later." The blonde said, winking.

"And I wasn't getting it just now!" Santana cried, in mock astonishment. Brittany punched her shoulder lightly,

"Don't be an ass. You know what I meant." Santana laughed and swatted Brittany's hand away,

"I know. I just love to tease you." Brittany rolled her eyes and bent down, scooping up her shorts and re-fastening them. Santana hopped lightly off her desk and moved to her closet once again.

XXXXXXXXXX

Twenty minutes later, Santana and Brittany strolled out to the side parking lot of the housing complex. The deep island heat worked instantly when they stepped out of the cool, air conditioned oasis of Santana's bungalow, and beads of sweat were already forming on their skin. Although she would've been much cooler in her underwear, Santana was now clad in a black, v-neck t-shirt, black lensed aviators, black combat boots very similar to Brittany's, and slim-fitting white shorts that rode low on her hips, leaving a tantalizing strip of her mid-section to play-peek-a-boo between the waistband and the hem of her shirt as she walked. Santana hefted a deceivingly heavy, small black duffle bag and a long, navy bag that looked like a bat-bag was strapped to Brittany's shoulders. The two arrived at the silver SUV as the others were loading up their gear. Puck's mohawked head swiveled around at their approach and his eyes narrowed in an _I-can't-believe-you'd-waist-my-valuable-time_ look. Brittany simply chuckled at his scowl, and patted him on the back as she passed him,

"Jealous, Puckerman?" she quipped, as she removed her bag and flung it into the already half-filled black cargo box atop the vehicle.

"Hardly," he snorted, still glaring daggers at Santana. The Latina simply saluted him with her middle finger and moved around to the other side of the car and out of his line of sight. She heaved the bag into the cargo hold and it landed with a resounding _thud_ and the clattering of many metal objects.

"Jesus, Lopez! How many knives have you got in that thing?" Sam's trout mouth trumpeted at her as he thrust his blonde head out the window of the driver's seat.

"Fuck!" Santana yelped, jumping back, fists clenched. "Don't' scare me like that, Evans! You're lucky I didn't have one of those blades on me or you might not have a tongue to yell with anymore." She spat at him, ripping open the rear door on his side, getting in and slamming it with enough force to shake the vehicle, then climbing back to the third row of seats where she plopped down with a huff.

"Someone's in a mood," Artie piped from his wheelchair stationed to the front-right of her.

"Shove it, Wheels," Santana spat. She could hear Brittany chuckling amusedly as she helped Puck shut the cargo box. After the box clicked shut, Brittany climbed past Artie, sticking her tongue out at him playfully as she did so, and climbed onto the bench of seats next to Santana. She cuddled up to the Latina and put her arm around her consolingly. After closing Arties door and getting into the front Passenger's seat and buckling up, Puck chirped,

"Don't mind her Artie. She's just pissed cause she didn't get off this morning." Artie burst out laughing, Brittany couldn't help but chuckle, and Sam's lips, pressed firmly together in an attempt to fend off a Cheshire cat grin, were visible in the rear-view mirror.

"Suck my dick, Puckerman!" Santana bellowed from the back seat. Puck smiled and turned his head to face her,

"Isn't that Brittany's job?" He grinned broadly.

"Why you mother fu-" Santana surged forward, desperately trying to make it to the front of the van but Brittany's arms were locked firmly around her waist.

"Voy a arrancarle la cabeza y-" she screamed loudly as her hands flew out, desperately trying to lay a hold of any part of Puck's body. Artie ducked, covering his head with his arms, trying to avoid being on the receiving end of one of Santana's misdirected blows. Sam was in hysterics as he watched the entire seen take place from the safety of the driver's seat, and Puck smiled contentedly and leaned back against the headrest, knowing Brittany's grip would hold and the piss and vinegar would wear out of Santana sooner rather than later.

"Shall we?" He nodded to a still giggling Sam, who answered the nod with the twisting of the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life and Puck cranked the radio and all three of the boys immediately began to belt along with Steven Tyler, thoroughly muting the Latina's threats.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"All right," Puck said as they came to a halt and the engine died, "here's the scenario. It's a simple extraction. We get in, we grab the target and we vacate. The target's name is Henry Wood; he is an Englishman who has been laundering illegal arms to the local mercs. He's under house arrest for brutalizing someone in a bar, but his weapons are responsible for a lot more damage than that so the boss wants him "removed" from the island. He's got some pretty heavy security so Britt, I'll need you to take up position somewhere and pick them off, then Santana and I will deal with the goons on the inside. Artie, once we are in, we need you to deal with the ankle bracelet. We break the perimeter with that thing on and we'll have an entire SWAT team on our ass in three minutes. Evan's, you keep the car ready and I want you to monitor the radio waves and the perimeter scan. You see any trouble, you give us the signal. Everyone got it?"

Puck's question was met with resounding nods and Artie piped up,

"Here," he said, rummaging through his fanny pack and pulling out what looked like a scanner that they used to check your items at a grocery store, "Santana, you wave this over the barcode on his bracelet and I can patch into the local PD network and cut the transmission on that bracelet. They'll never know he left." Santana nodded and took the gadget from him.

"All right, let's suit up." Puck barked, and he, Brittany and Santana exited the vehicle and began retrieving their bags from the cargo box. Santana pulled down her duffle bag and unzipped it. She put on the harness that crisscrossed in an "x" pattern over her torso, the front of which was filled to the brim with small throwing knives, 24 in total. Onto her belt she clipped the sheath of her trusty dagger and then slid a smaller one into her left boot. Santana was a close-range weapons expert; she could decimate her opponent with anything from a blade to a baseball bat or her bare fists if need be. As indicated by the array of throwing knives, she was also a hand-held projectiles specialist. She could hit a moving target with great accuracy at up to 40 yards.

Brittany removed her bag and pulled out a long-barreled .308. The stock and body of the rifle were ornately crafted of fine, sturdy cherry, died a rich and deep red. The silver barrel and matching scope glinted in the sunlight. Brittany reached into a smaller pocket and produced a cylindrical silver appliance. She screwed the tube onto the end of the barrel, effectively silencing the firearm. To put it simply, Brittany was a munitions master, but more specifically, a sniper. She slung the thick leather strap attached to the rifle over her shoulder and securely fastened her ammo belt.

Puck reached into a small box and pulled out a shining silver pistol which he holstered on his hip, and a thick, electrified Billy club which he secured through the back of his belt. Puck was the brains of the organization, but he could hold his own in battle. He nearly never missed with his pistol and although his speed was nothing to brag about, they were all masterfully trained in hand-to-hand combat, and he had a brute strength that left most opponents scrambling on the floor attempting to find all of their teeth after a single blow.

Securing their blue-tooth communication devices in their ears, the team split ways, Sam and Artie powering up the tech gear in the SUV and the other three taking their positions. Brittany surveyed the area and soon found an abandoned chicken coop across the street and climbed to the roof of it, laying on her stomach and cradling the gun gently but firmly, the way the mother holds the hand of her child. She laid her cheek against the cool groove of the stock and closed her left eye, bringing her right one level with the scope. The small, mint green house across the street was guarded by two men on the outside. Both, however, stood next to the front entrance. If she were to drop one within sight of the other, he would call for backup and the job would end before it had begun. Thinking for a minute, she soon had an idea. She took a steadying breath and then exhaled as she squeezed the trigger, and the bullet exited the barrel with a barely audible chirp thanks to her trusty silencer. The bullet ripped through the rope of the potted plant hanging from the eves on the side porch of the building, and it fell to the ground with a crash. She watched as the two men looked at each other and one soon departed to go check on the noise while the other remained by the door. As soon as he had rounded the corner and was out of sight of his partner, Brittany drew her crosshairs at the base of his skull and gave a smooth squeeze of the trigger; he slumped to the ground without a sound. Wasting no time, she swung her barrel and found the forehead of the other guard within her sights; a soft chirp again and he was a lifeless heap by the door.

"Coast is clear," she stated into her mouth piece.

"Good work, Honey B," she heard Santana say and smiled at the nickname. Even on a job Santana never lost her affection; that girl sure did love her. Watching the scene below her, Brittany soon saw Santana and Puck emerge out of the bushes surrounding the yard and make their way to opposite doors of the house.

"Be careful, baby." She whispered as she saw Santana approach the front door, poised to kick it in.

XXXXXXXXX

"On three, Santana," Puck spoke quietly as he readied himself at the back entrance to the house. "One, two, three!" he said, and with one swift kick of his work-booted foot the door was sent flying off its hinges and into the house and he heard the resounding ruckus as Santana's did the same. He barreled into the small house, pistol un-holstered, finger wrapped firmly around the trigger. He was greeted by four figures: a terrified Wood sat on his couch in his white linen shorts and obnoxious tropical print shirt while his three bodyguards, equally brawny and petulant looking fanned out around him, reaching for their guns inside their breast pockets. Puck pulled his pistol up and snapped the trigger back in one smooth motion, sending a bullet burying itself between the eyes of the bodyguard nearest him. As his eyes scanned the room again, they found Santana locked in heavy combat with a burly man in a grey wife beater. However, the third guard was already slumped to the ground, a knife embedded in his chest. Puck aimed at the man Santana was currently in a violent dance with, but dared not take a shot for fear of hitting his co-worker. So, he moved to the couch and placed the barrel of his gun to Wood's temple.

"Move, and I'll paint the wall with your brains," he stated directly. Wood just gulped and nodded rapidly that he understood. With Wood not about to go anywhere, Puck turned his eyes back to Santana. He watched her place biting blows to the torso and jaw of the behemoth of a man before her and dodge swiftly his lumbering punches as she had already knocked the pistol from his hand and it was lying in a corner across the room. Puck watched, unsure why Santana hadn't taken him out yet, she was much faster than he was and she was armed to the hilt. Then he saw her hands; they were empty. Her knife was still securely fastened in her belt. Puck couldn't help but grin at the Latina's balls; she was playing with the bodyguard. Had her knife been out, he would've been dead in four seconds, as she was the only one landing blows even now with only her bare hands. He watched amusedly now, not worried at all, until the bloke actually managed to land a sloppy hit on Santana's mouth. Taking a step forward, but still keeping his gun steadily trained at Wood, Puck called out to his teammate,

"Santana? Everything good?" Santana held up her left hand, reassuring Puck as she back-pedaled from the large man before her, who was grinning victoriously. Santana's eyes took on a familiar black look that Puck knew so well as she spat a mouthful of blood on the floor. And then her hand was a blur as it reached down, quickly found her blade and ripped it from its sheath. With a lunge forward Santana slit the man from his collar bone to his jaw, stopping any scream before it could start. Then, with a quick upward thrust she encased the six inches of metal up through his mouth and into his brain. She retracted the blade, all that was holding him upright now, and he crashed earthward, dead before he hit the carpet.

"Guess so," Puck stammered, always astonished at the lethal work the Latina was capable of. "Ok, well I'm already making sure he won't move so why don't you whip out the scanny-thingy and we'll get this show on the road." Santana nodded, attempting to rub the bite out of her jaw with one hand, and reaching for the scanner with the other.

XXXXXXXX

Brittany remained on the chicken coop, watching the un-telling outside of the house. She stayed up there just in case anything were to go astray and her prime vantage point were to be needed once again.

And it wasn't long before it did.

Suddenly, in her ear piece, Brittany heard Sam cry out,

"What the fu-" and his words were cut off by a gurgle. Immediately, she could hear Artie,

"Code red, code red, evacua-" and he too was silenced. Brittany looked nervously towards the house, expecting Santana and Puck to issue forth immediately at the warning. However, she could hear the gunfire and yelling still raging within from her position and she knew instantly that neither of them had been able to hear the transmission. Brittany looked back to the SUV for the perpetrators, ready to run to the aid of Sam and Artie but she saw no one there. It was either too late for them, or there would be an ambush waiting for her there. Her eyes flew back to the house just in time to see a head of choppy blonde hair disappearing through the front door.

"Fuck!" Brittany cried out, shouldering her gun and instantly vaulting off the coop and sprinting as fast as her legs would carry her towards the house.

"Santana! Puck! Get out NOW!" she bellowed into the mouth piece, hoping desperately that they would hear her.

XXXXXXXXX

Santana finally laid her hand on the scanner and was crouched by Wood's ankle. He kicked out at her and Puck smacked him upside the head with his open palm,

"Cut the shit!" Puck growled. "We're being nice here. You don't hold still and I'll just have her cut the foot off and leave it here!" he threatened. Wood shot him a hateful look but held still. Then, their eyes locked on each other when Brittany's voice rang through their ears,

"Fuck!" and moments later "Santana! Puck! Get out NOW!" Puck's arm swung swiftly as he clocked Wood with the butt of his pistol, knocking him unconscious. Santana replaced the scanner in her belt and was about to right herself when she felt the steely, razor edge of a blade against her throat. Her eyes flashed to Puck, only to see him now on his knees, a gun pressed firmly to the back of his head by an incredibly short, dark haired girl with pouty lips and bedroom eyes. And then she heard the wind chime voice in her ear,

"Afternoon, Santana."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks so much for reading. Please review. Seriously. It lets me get a read on what you guys want. Also, sorry this chapter took so long. I fractured my knuckle and typing is sheer torture, so others might as well. Thanks for reading and enjoy!**

**Chapter 3:**

Half way to the house, and Brittany thought better of it. She needed to get to Santana, but she had no doubt the blonde bitch had backup or Puck would've taken her out and radioed that the coast was clear. So, she needed her own backup. She skidded to a halt and bolted to her left, back towards the SUV. Her pace slowed as she reached the shrubs surrounding the lot. Crouching low to the ground, she peered through the thick, emerald leaves to the SUV; there were no signs of a lingering intruder, only the heads of Sam and Artie lolling in their seats. Immediately, she feared the worse. Reassured that she was alone in the lot, she resumed her sprint to the vehicle. She flung open the driver's side door.

"Oomph-" she grunted as Sam's muscular figure tumbled out at her. She caught him and righted him in his seat, her fingers immediately retrieving the small, metal dart from his neck, and then going to his pulse point. She sighed in relief and her heart resumed its beating when her fingertips were patted with the heavy beat of Sam's pulse; he was just unconscious. Making her way to the back door, she found Artie slumped in his wheelchair, an identical dart buried in the meat of his arm. She removed it and then unsnapped his fanny-pack, desperately milling about for the cylindrical pens. Finally, she found them and pulled them out, uncapping the first and slamming it into Artie's thigh. The shot of epinephrine did its work, surging through his veins and flushing out whatever chemical it was that had knocked him out. The boy's eyes blinked groggily only for a second, and then his training kicked in and he was sitting bolt upright, straightening the glasses back on his face and reaching for the pistol strapped to the bottom of his chair. Brittany halted his actions with a firm hand, and he took a deep, relieved breath when he saw her,

"Thank God, you heard." Brittany only nodded quickly at him before making her way around the SUV and injecting Sam. Artie knew that the normally bubbly blonde's shortness could only mean one thing; Santana was in trouble. Sam sat up, groaning and rubbing his neck, smiling a thank you to Brittany. Artie turned to her, and his suspicions were confirmed at the frosty look in her blue eyes.

"It's them, isn't it?" he questioned quietly, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," she choked out, barely keeping the panic out of her voice. Sam and Artie grimaced at each other. "We need to move in." Brittany stated firmly, and the two boys nodded. Artie rebooted his tech gear that had an automatic lock down if he didn't use it for five minutes, while Sam hopped out of the SUV, snapped open the cargo box and pulled out two pistols and two ammo clips, loading one up himself and tossing the other set to Brittany; she couldn't use her rifle for close range work.

"I've got an image," Artie piped, and the other two stuck their heads in to listen. "Ok," he began, "there are four heat signatures, so that's Puck and Santana, and the bitch and her little helper. Puck and Santana are pinned, as far as I can see, and based off the fact that there is no heat register for what they're holding, assume it's metal, so guns or knives. Now, since both doors have been kicked off there is a clear line of sight from one entrance to the other so they will see you come in no matter what. So, my suggestion is to hit them with their own medicine. Stake it out, and on three you fill the doorways and do a sleeping dart to the neck."

Brittany and Sam nodded in unison and Sam held up his pistol, "Figured you'd say that. Already got the clips with the darts loaded up." Artie smiled, proud of his protégé.

"All right you two," he smiled, "be safe out there. Put your ear pieces in and feel free to communicate. I took Puck and Santana's off line just in case the bitch is listening in." The two nodded swiftly to him and were on their way.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Afternoon, Santana." Santana's entire body tensed with fury. Not again. Every failed job, every criminal that had gotten away, every target that had been poached was because of _her_.

"Can't you find your own job for once?" Santana barked.

"It's much more fun to steal from you, Santana. In fact…" the voice whispered, and Santana felt her lip curl in immediate distaste as she felt the hot breath in her ear, and she couldn't stop a small growl from escaping her throat, "after I'm done with you, I might steal that pretty blonde girlfriend of yours. Have some _fun_ with her."

An animal snarl ripped from Santana's throat and she struck backward with her elbow, hearing a rewarding "oomph" from the woman behind her, as sharp bone connected with soft abdomen. However, she was soon greeted with a swift slash of the knife to her upper bicep, and her hair was fisted and yanked back and a foot kicked the back of her knee and she dropped to the ground, kneeling before the blonde.

"I swear to God I'll fucking kill you! Don't you touch her, Fabray!" Santana screamed, thrashing against the painful hold on her scalp. Quinn pulled tighter, and Santana ceased her movements, but her eyes narrowed and her mouth took on a sneer that was the incarnation of evil. A knowing Puck shook his head rapidly and mouthed "Don't. No." at her, but the words came out.

"You so much as lay a finger on Brittany, and I'll make sure I keep Berry over there alive just long enough for her to watch me hold her beating heart in front of her." Santana said, and spat in the direction of the woman holding a gun to the back of Puck's head.

Wrong move.

Santana felt the knife leave her throat only to feel a firm hand replace it. The hand gripped like a vice and propelled Santana towards the wall, slamming her back roughly into it, causing Santana to give a strangled cry. The fingers squeezed still tighter, and Santana took deep, searching breaths, trying to pull any amount of air into her lungs. Her eyes grew wide as she saw the knife come up and felt its cool skin be placed against her bottom lip.

"Do that again, and I will cut out your fucking tongue," the blonde hissed through perfectly straight teeth, eyes burning with a hazel fury. Santana couldn't respond, only continue to sloppily suck in air like a fish out of water, gaping and flailing. Her throat burned with the lack of reward at each unsuccessful breath, and she felt her vision begin to go hazy and her mind begin to fog, the oxygen deprivation was doing its work. The blonde was turning into spotty black patches and she felt her form begin to slump, when she heard simultaneous shrieks of pain and suddenly, miraculously, the flesh stone was lifted from her throat. Coughing and choking, she fell to her knees, breathing deeply, relishing in the warm, Jamaican air. She saw Quinn lying in a heap in front of her, and turned her head to see Rachel in a similar position on the floor near Puck, who was now being helped to his feet by Sam. Then, Santana only saw blue eyes swirling with worry as Brittany knelt in front of her.

"San, baby, are you ok?" she whispered, cupping Santana's face with her hands. Santana nodded, and croaked out through her still recovering throat,

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Are you ok?" Brittany smiled briefly and nodded, but the grin was wiped clean off of her face when she saw Santana's arm.

"Jesus, Santana! You're bleeding everywhere!" Brittany's hands immediately went to Santana's bicep, gripping it with a vengeance in order to stem the flow of blood that was still trickling through the blonde's thin fingers. Santana winced at the grip, not realizing until now, when the tide of adrenaline had finally stemmed, how much her arm throbbed.

"She needs stitches. Now!" Brittany yelled over her shoulder at Sam and Puck.

"Sam, you go get the med kit, and I'll take this moron to the car." Puck said, gesturing at a still unconscious Wood. Puck slung the limp man over his shoulder and made his way past Brittany and Santana. Brittany knew it wasn't because it was quicker to go out the front door, but simply because he wanted to have a look at Santana's wound, all though he would never admit it. Sam sprinted past him, his muscular legs carrying him swiftly to the car, and it was only moments before he was back with the red box. He immediately opened it and began searching for the necessary supplies. One of the many reasons Sam had been hired was that he had been a trained surgeon in the military for a brief period of time until he was discharged for taking a hostage situation into his own hands. Sam removed a needle from its sterile package and shoved the tip into a small vile of liquid. He set it aside and tied a tourniquet above Santana's gash, stemming the crimson flow slightly. He picked his needle back up and stuck her in several places around the cut. He waited a minute, sterilizing his suturing needle while the local anesthetic kicked in. Prodding Santana gently with his finger he asked,

"Can you feel that?"

"No. Go ahead." She replied. He raised the needle and thread to her skin,

"Hold still." She nodded and he began his work.

Twenty minutes later, the wound was neatly closed, cleaned and covered with gauze and bandages, and the three got to their feet and began to leave the house. Brittany paused,

"What should we do with them?" she gestured towards Quinn and Rachel, still unconscious on the floor.

"Leave them," Santana growled, and put her uninjured arm protectively around Brittany as she looked at Quinn, remembering her threat.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Santana lay in bed, much to her chagrin, as Brittany brought her a glass of ice water and some fresh pineapple slices.

"Britt Britt, I can get it myself. I'm fine I promise." Santana assured her girlfriend, but Brittany would have none of it.

"You need to rest. You lost a lot of blood today." Brittany said, setting the tray on the nightstand nearest Santana and crawling into the bed next to her. Santana sighed and rolled her eyes but Brittany only laughed at her.

"Roll your eyes all you want, Lopez. We both know who wears the pants in this relationship." She said with a knowing smirk. Santana's jaw dropped in mock astonishment,

"Oh _do_ we now?" she pressed, poking Brittany lightly in the ribs with her good arm.

"Mmmhhhmmm," Brittany crooned. "You're so pussy whipped it's not even funny." Santana balked, but then a devilish grin came to her face.

"Well," she husked, getting to her knees and leaning in towards the blonde's lips. "We will just have to see about that." She angled her lips ever so slightly closer to Brittany's, millimeters away, but not quite touching, and locked eyes with the blonde.

"I dare you not to touch me." She breathed against the blonde's lips. She could feel Brittany's breath hitch and watched black consume blue as her pupils began to dilate. Lowering her mouth, she opened it slightly and took Brittany's chin between her teeth, giving a firm bite. She heard the blonde groan, and continued her assault. She brought her hands in front of her, her injured arm protesting but she didn't care, and grazed her fingertips from Brittany's knees to the hem of her barely-there booty shorts. Moving her lips now, she placed slow, chaste kisses along Brittany's jaw until she reached her neck, where she dove in with the hunger that was still burning from this morning's activities. She opened her mouth wide and flattened her tongue against Brittany's neck, tasting the sweet, supple flesh before closing her lips upon it and sucking deeply. Brittany moaned loudly and Santana saw her hand coming up to reach for her out of the corner of her eye. She reached up and slapped it away,

"Ah, ah. No touching." She cooed in a sing-song voice. Bringing her hands up, she swiftly pulled down Brittany's shorts and cupped her through the thin, white lace, applying firm pressure with the heal of her hand.

"_Ooh!" _Brittany gasped at the pleasant surprise, and she leaned back slightly, attempting to further push herself into Santana's hand. The Latina had predicted her movement and withdrew her hand, only to use it to strip Brittany of her shirt. As soon as she had rid the blonde of the article of clothing, she began kissing slowly downward over Brittany's prominent collar bone, over her chest, over the mound of each breast and down her taut abs. Reaching the base of Brittany's stomach, Santana straightened her tongue into a stiff point and ran the tip up to the intersection of Brittany's rib cage. She felt a shudder rack the blonde's body and a deep, throaty moan, thick in her throat and Santana knew that she had won.

"Fuck this," Brittany husked, and her hands immediately found Santana's hips, pulling her onto her lap so the Latina straddled her. "I'm whipped, and now I want some pussy."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You want us to do WHAT!" Puck bellowed into the phone. "This is bullshit! No way is this ever going to fly. Especially not with Santana. Especially after today."

"Figure it out!" was screamed at him from the other end of the phone and a resounding _click_ rang in Puck's ears as the phone was slammed on the other end. Snapping his own phone closed, Puck rose from his desk chair and burst forth from his bungalow, walking first to Sam and Artie's shared building next to his, pounding on their door with a white-knuckled fist.

"Group meeting. Now." Puck growled into the shocked face of Sam. The toe-headed young man nodded bewilderedly and called to Artie. Puck continued his rampage across the grounds until he found Santana's bungalow and pounded furiously on the door. There was no answer. He jiggled the knob and found it unlocked so he let himself in. It was late and they were probably asleep so he headed towards the bedroom. However, mumbling and grumbling to himself, he did not hear the moans coming from the bedroom until it was too late.

"_Britt, oooooh God! Yeeees, baby yes! Fuck me, B. Fu—uck, unh!"_ Santana mewled, her back arched, knees bent, sprawled width-ways across the bed, entirely naked, her bare breasts bouncing from her lustful writhing and her hands tangled in Brittany's hair whose face was buried between Santana's legs.

"Group mee-" Puck's words dropped off as he took in the scene before him.

"_Yes, baby, yes! I'm coming, I'm-"_ Santana's word's halted in her throat as a strangled moan clawed its way out and her entire body tightened as Brittany's lips wrapped around the sensitive bundle of nerves and she sucked hungrily. When Santana came down, Brittany lifted her head and began crawling up the Latina's body to kiss her, when she noticed Puck standing slack jawed in the doorway. Shamelessly, the blonde wiped her glistening mouth with the back of her hand before lowering her body onto the Latina's, covering her lover's naked form from the hungry eyes of the flushed man in their doorway.

"At least you let us finish this time. What do you want Puckerman?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank to anyone who has been reading! This chapter is a bit shorter for some character development/background info. Please review, they make my day. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 4:**

The wooden chair rocketed at him from across the room. Puck ducked just in time to hear the heavy cherry splintering against the wall instead of his skull. And then she was coming at him. A whirlwind of raven locks, gnashing teeth, and glinting brown eyes, Santana had unsheathed her knife and pressed it to the front of his throat before he even had time to fully right himself after dodging her impromptu projectile. Her lips were pulled back in an almost animal showing of anger and her face was as close to his as it could be without actually touching. He eyed her bandaged arm, but the steal in her countenance made it clear she was blind to any pain, and to the blood slowly ebbing through the gauze.

"Go ahead, Puck. Tell me again what it is you want us to do."

She snarled at him, and Puck could smell the whiskey on her breath, surely only providing additional fuel for the rage that was ravaging her system. Twenty minutes ago, after she and Brittany had robed themselves and he had relayed the message, Santana had simply sat, mouth open, eyes glazed over with shock. However, now, hunting him down in his own bungalow, Brittany no where in sight, Santana was the picture of rage.

"Santana, I...please back up. Let's talk about this rationally." Puck breathed out tentatively, his Adam's apple bumping the blade as he swallowed thickly. As much shit as he gave her, and as much as he pretended to be in control every second of every day, in moments like these, when Santana was gripped by fury and had that same dark look in her eyes as she did when she took a life, like death rolling in thick black clouds, Puck had to admit that she frightened him. However, he couldn't rationalize where the fury was coming from.

"Santana," he pleaded again as she only glared, tight lipped at him, "this job is too big for just us. Believe me, I'm not happy about it either, and I understand you're pissed about your arm, but we have no choice. The boss says we have to team up with Quinn and her gang. And I know she pisses you off as much as me, the bitch is a pain in the ass, but you've got to admit that she's a damn good operator and so are the rest of them." Puck breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the look in her eyes shift as she withdrew her blade. However, he was only further caught off guard when her free hand reached swiftly up, palmed the back of his skull, and shoved sharply downward as her knee rocketed up in tandem. Puck heard the muffled crunch as his nose hit her kneecap and immediately knew that it was broken. The pain was searing and his eyes immediately began to tear as Santana's hand continued pushing his head downward and he was soon on his knees, clutching his face and trying to blink away the vision blurring mist.

"You have no idea how I feel, Puckerman." she hissed in a voice low, laced with hatred and some other emotion Puck couldn't quite pick up on. She towered over him, pacing around his body, and he looked up at her bleary eyed and dazed. When he saw her eyes, he recognized the look that had swept over them just before she crushed his nose; it was fear. Puck's heart faltered slightly at the animal way she stalked, the wolf-like burning of her unwavering gaze; if there was one thing true throughout nature it was that a frightened animal was infinitely more dangerous than an angry one.

"Why are you afraid of her?" he whispered somewhat nasally. Her eyes flashed and she sucked in a hissing breath and the knife was again to his throat.

"No. Don't you dare. I am not afraid."

"Yes you are." he responded for lack of better judgement. And then she was standing, cocking a foot back and letting it fly at his ribs. He cried out in pain and fell to his side on the carpet. Her leg was pulled back again and he closed his eyes and tensed, fearing the worst, but no impact came. He warily opened his eyes to see Brittany had appeared from out of no where, her arms roped firmly around Santana's body, dragging the struggling Latina away from him.

"No!" she screamed, "let me go! Let me go! Let me go!"

By the last repetition, Santana had stopped fighting and instead had turned her body into Brittany's and was hiding her face in the tall blonde's neck. Her body shook and Brittany stroked her hair. That was the first time Puck had seen Santana cry.

Santana sat alone in the cove. It was her private space. Even though she was welcome, Brittany chose to stay away. She respected Santana's privacy. Santana smiled at the thought. She loved Brittany in a way she had never loved anyone. She loved the way Brittany was willing to sacrifice for her. No one had ever done that for her before. And she was more than willing to do the same. She would lay down her life for Brittany in a heart beat. Because she loved her, because she never wanted her to hurt, but mostly because she knew, she couldn't live a day without Brittany. A life without Brittany wouldn't really be living at all. She knew Brittany felt the same way. They lived because of and for each other. Santana had thought she had felt that way about only one other person. But when push came to shove, she had sacrificed everything only to be left out in the cold, so she left without mercy. Looking back now, Santana only felt hatred for Quinn. She also felt disgust with herself. She could see the appeal of Quinn, the vein, physical want that had sustained their relationship, but it was nothing compared to what she had with Brittany. Quinn and Brittany were elemental opposites in Santana's world. Brittany was water and Quinn had been electricity. Quinn shocked her system, buzzed and crackled throughout her limbs. Brittany soothed and enveloped her, holding her together, buoying her somewhere between earth and sky. In the end, she had burnt out on Quinn. She couldn't contain that kind of energy and her system had short circuited. But with Brittany, she was immortal. She could somehow drift, drown in her abyss, and yet it was what sustained her. She could breathe her, make her a part of her, drink her in until she was fit to burst. But Santana was afraid she might lose that. Brittany would never leave her, that was true, but Quinn would most certainly take her from Santana given the opportunity. She remembered the inhuman look in Quinn's eyes the day she had left. The emerald hardness of those green orbs, sharp, cutting, and unyielding when she had told Santana that she would ruin her if she ever got the chance. When Quinn had threatened Brittany during the last mission, Santana knew she had given away how much Brittany meant with her reaction, and now Quinn did indeed have the perfect opportunity to ruin her. And Puck was aiding it. With Quinn so close Santana wouldn't be able to function let alone do her part in carrying out a job. Just the thought of Quinn in the same neighborhood as Brittany made her skin crawl and her heart seize up with a jerking, breathless pain. And now, they would be sharing a house, crammed into cars together, sleeping right next to each other on stakeouts. Santana shivered at the thought and hugged her arms about herself and she winced as her hand hit the still-fresh gash on the opposite arm. She raised her hand in front of her to see her fingers were tacky with blood. Quinn Fabray's wound was still seeping. And this was just the beginning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everyone, sorry for the delay my internet is being a crazy bitch. I have also enabled anonymous reviews so please do! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 5:**

Brittany's eyes never strayed from Santana's face as the group waited in Puck's living room for Quinn and her crew to arrive. She watched the line in Santana's cheek vanish and reappear as the brunette clenched and relaxed her jaw rhythmically. Her eyes, blinking rarely, bored into the door with an unearthly vigilance, and her fingers that were nestled in her lap twitched and flexed around the phantom limb of her knife, which Brittany had made sure remained secure in their dresser at home. And then she shot to her feet. The door handle had no sooner turned and Puck's burly figure was filling the frame when Brittany's view was blocked by Santana's wiry form. Brittany watched Santana position her body between herself and the threat just like a territorial animal and couldn't help but smile briefly at the brunette's fearsome protectiveness. Brittany saw Puck give Santana a firm look before he stepped out of the door frame and was replaced by a tinier, blonde figure. Brittany watched the sharp hazel eyes fall to Santana in a smoldering glower and the plush pink lips twitch in an irritated silence. And Santana's figure was wracked with a shudder as her body fought between bursting into roaring flame and shattering into a million icy, crystalline pieces. As she watched the encounter, Brittany felt the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end at the electricity that crackled between the two lightning rod rivals. She watched as Santana shifted her weight between her feet and her eyes took on that dark, weighted blackness that seemed to swallow all the light in the world like twin black holes. Then, as if the emerald shards in her eyes could cut straight through the adamantine fibers of Santana's rigid body, Quinn's gaze found Brittany. Brittany's chest tightened in that sharp, protesting way that it does when running in cold, winter air. Quinn's eyes were mesmerizing and terrifying all at once. They had a surreal beauty; an explosion of chestnut flame burst out from the obsidian blackness of her pupils and danced over the lazy green depths of her irises. But something lurked beneath the surface. There was a heat behind them, slow and smoldering but threatening to catch and tear through her brain like wildfire at any moment. And Brittany was well aware of the dangers of fire.

Before she could lose herself further in Quinn's mystical gaze, Brittany was wrenched from her haze by a screeching Santana,

"Don't you look at her like that!" and the Latina was launching herself at Quinn. In return, Quinn sprang towards Santana, fists already flying, the two women landing biting blows over one another's bodies. Too caught off guard to react, Brittany breathed a sigh of relief when the tussle was quickly ended as the bulging biceps of Sam locked Santana's arms to her side and Quinn's limbs were equally roped by the wiry muscle of a tall, handsome Asian man that Brittany recognized as Mike Chang. While Sam grinned boyishly at Santana's struggle, Mike's face was a slab of hard, unflinching marble. His almond shaped brown eyes were expressionless, his chiseled features motionless, and his thin mouth set in a hard line. Brittany watched as he held firm, his eyes locked unseeingly on some point in space, and she felt a thick sadness take over her chest. His eyes were empty, blacker than the darkest reaches of space, devoid of all light and life. What, she wondered, had made him so cold, so distant that even the physical thrashing of Quinn's warm body in his arms could not make him feel?

Once again, however, Brittany was jerked from her internal ponderings as she saw Puck step between the two hissing and flailing women and shout deep from within his chest,

"ENOUGH!" his voice boomed throughout the room and Brittany watched the two women snap to attention with a small, startled jump at the commanding sound.

"Sit down. Both of you." He growled, and much to Brittany's amazement, they did. Mike guided Quinn to a soft pink couch on one side of the room while Brittany tenderly clasped Santana's arm and pulled her snuggly onto her lap as she sat in a brown leather recliner on the opposite side. Brittany looked towards the door to see the rest of Quinn's crew filing in. First, Rachel Berry who's smoky brown eyes shot daggers in the direction of Santana and Brittany as her tiny body huffed towards Quinn and plopped down next to her, wrapping a reassuring arm around her shoulders and pressing her lips bellow the blonde's ear to whisper something. Quinn, gaze still locked on Santana, spread her lips over her teeth in a vicious sneer at Rachel's words, and Brittany could feel Santana shudder lightly in her arms.

Next through the door sauntered the lanky form of Joe Hart. An unlit cigarette hung from his grinning lips, and he pulled one hand out of the pocket of his sagging black jeans to flash a peace sign at the room and mumble a "What up nerds," before stroking the hand over his long brown dreads and returning it to his pocket. He wore a simple baggy grey v-neck tee shirt, leaving visible the tattoos that were scrawled across his neck, chest and forearms. He plopped himself on the couch next to Mike, threw his red-Converse-clad feet up onto the coffee table and lit up his cigarette.

"Boys and girls, this is Joe Hart," Puck stated, gesturing to the now smoke-blurred figure.

"And what, exactly, is it that you do?" Artie questioned skeptically, his eyebrows cocked and the lopsided way his mouth tugged downward expressing his clear distaste.

"I make things go _boom_." Joe smiled, puffing out a perfect smoke ring.

"Yes," Puck attempted to smile in return, "Joe is a brilliant explosives expert. And we are glad to have him on the team. As well as the rest of his crew." Santana scoffed.

"Maybe we're glad to have him, but what do the rest of them do?" she questioned, gesturing flippantly to Mike, Rachel, and Quinn.

"Well," Puck began, "Mr. Chang here is what we like to call a PI."

"You hired a Private Investigator?" Sam asked, baffled.

"No," Puck said, shaking his head. "In our business, Evans, PI stands for Professional Intruder. Mike can pick any lock, scale any wall, and outwit any security system." Sam nodded his recognition and inclined his head to Mike, who, Brittany noticed, still had his blank stare fixed on the wall somewhere above her head.

"Ok," Santana acquiesced, "that's all well and good. But what about Itty Bitty Berry and Fabray?" Quinn's mouth tightened even further at the comment, and Rachel's eyes narrowed in loathing.

"Watch your tone, Santana," Puck warned. "Rachel is our bait. She can play any role, take on any disguise and she doesn't crack under even the most intense of pressure. She lays her life on the line to make sure a plan goes through, so show a little respect. And Quinn," he continued, eyeing Santana wearily, "is our Intel. She has connections all over the globe and dozens of perfectly secure aliases with which she is able to remain undetected. With the combination of the skills they have to offer and ours, we are going to be unstoppable. But I won't lie to you; this job is going to be the hardest any of us has ever faced. This job, I've dubbed Eight Ball, because we can't hit our target until all seven of his contacts are gone. If he goes before them, we unleash some of the most ruthless, insane criminals on the planet on humanity without the head that controls them."

"So," Brittany finally piped up for the first time, "who is this "Eight Ball?" Puck swallowed thickly before moving over to the wall and pulled down a large white screen and pulled a small black remote out of his pocket and pressed a button. Instantly, the towering figure of a tall man in a suit, with feathery brown hair styled neatly with gel, soft brown eyes, and a boyish smirk and awkward stance appeared on the screen.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Puck began, "I would like you to meet our Eight Ball…Finn Hudson." Brittany felt her heart stop in her chest and Santana's hands clench desperately against hers as she watched the silent fear steal over the room like a cold winter wind creeping in from under the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam felt his organs do a somersault as his eyes roamed over the likable features of the seemingly all-American-boy being projected on the wall in front of him. His mouth suddenly felt dry and his heart began to race as images fired across his mind's eye. He felt the stares of those of his group upon his turned face and his cheeks began to flush uncontrollably. His face may have been on fire but his insides were ice. He felt the same chill crackling over his veins that he had a year ago. His breath began to quicken and he muttered out an, "I need a minute" as he jerked to his feet and walked swiftly out the door. He had no sooner shut the door firmly behind him, when the hyperventilation and rapid beating of his heart became too much and he fell to his hands and knees, plunging into a pool of thick, black panic.

After a dishonorable discharge, he couldn't get a job anywhere. He was tired, red-eyed, and unshaven. Sloshing through the cold Seattle rain, picking up and filling out every "help wanted" application he could find all day every day was no cake walk. The hopelessness was starting to seep into his bones like the rain was seeping into his clothes. Sick of filling his shoes every time he stepped off the curb, Sam ducked into the door of a warmly lit coffee house. Needing a cup of anything warm, he squelched up to the counter and mumbled an order for tea with honey and lemon. However, it would be just his luck to have a smart ass barista stuck between him and his cup of liquid relaxation.

"That's really rude, you know." Confused, Sam swiveled his head about him, sure the female voice was talking to anyone but him. When he found he was the sole member of the counter-front queue, he turned back and looked up to the voice with a puzzled look on his face.

"It's pretty rude and selfish to have that grimace locked on your face when you probably have the most beautiful smile in the world."

Sam's mouth dropped open at the brazenness of the blonde woman before him. However, it wasn't long until the brilliantly smug grin on her face had made its way to his and she let out a tinkling laugh.

"There it is. I knew it'd be perfect. What's your name?"

"Sam, my name is Sam." he managed through the broad grin.

"Well my name is Holly. Holly Holiday. And here's your tea, it's on the house."

"Really?" he asked, surprised and slightly embarrassed.

"Really," she assured him. "You look like you could use a kind gesture, and besides, that grin of yours is more than enough payment, Sammy Smiles."

"Evans," he laughed, "my last name is Evans."

"Hmmm," she pondered deeply, her chin on her fist, "No. I like Sammy Smiles better. It's more appropriate." He couldn't help but beam back at her and as he looked into the glinting grey eyes smiling back at him he struggled to remember why he hadn't been smiling all along.

A year and a half later they were married. When they honeymooned to Jamaica, Sam had met Puck at a local bar and Puck had offered him a job, saying they could use someone with his military and medical training. He had told Holly and although he could see the fear in her eyes and the struggle on her lips as she tried to return his excited grin.

"I'm happy for you, my Sammy Smiles." and he felt the slight tremor in her hands as she placed them on his face and kissed him gently. Several weeks later, they moved to the island. After long days of physical and technical training and bandaging up wounds (most of which belonged to Santana) Sam dragged himself home exhausted to the loving arms of his wife, always waiting with a smile and a warm cup of tea with honey and lemon. One evening, as he stood in his boxers in front of the bathroom sink, combing out his hair from the shower, he smiled and slender fingers slid up his side and smooth palms came to rest on the damp muscles of his chest. She rested her head on his shoulder and smiled her warm, demure love at his reflection in the mirror. Leaning up onto her tiptoes and pressing herself against his back, she layered sweet kisses on his neck and hummed into the freshly washed sent of his skin.

"You know something?" she said, her lips ghosting over is skin.

"Hmm?" posed, eyebrow cocked at her in his curious way in the mirror.

"I hope she has your smile." He paused the smooth strokes of the comb through his wet, honey locks.

"Who?" he pondered, not sure where she was trying to take him with this. She smiled and locked his gaze for a moment before taking the comb from him and setting it on the counter with one hand and using the other to spin him towards her. She took his now empty hand and gently, pressed it flat against her stomach.

"Her." she whispered. It took only a second for the realization to hit and then Sam was on his knees, grinning broadly, the tears of joy running down his face staining Holly's stomach as he rolled up her nightgown to expose her skin and press long, loving kisses there. After several solid minutes of crying, laughing, and fervent kisses, he rested his forehead against her warm, smooth belly and closed his eyes as she strikes her fingers through his hair.

"Well," he said, finally drawing an even breath, "I hate to disappoint you, but I hope she's exactly like you."

_He doesn't look so dangerous_, Sam thought, looking at the image of Finn Hudson on his computer screen as he scanned the new recruit dossier Puck had sent him. Sam was a people person, everyone knew that, but he somehow had a way to win people to his cause, no matter how solid their walls were. Santana said it was because he looked like a kicked puppy when he was sad, Brittany said it was because he had perfect hair, and Holly, of course, said it was his smile. "A smile that could convince the ocean to change its tides," that's how she described it. As he smiled at the thought of her, she moseyed into the kitchen where he was sitting at the table with his glasses on, cup of coffee in one hand and the other on his laptop, scrolling through his assignment.

"Morning, love," she whispered as she bent to press a tender kiss to his lips which he happily returned. He then leaned farther out of his chair to press a kiss to her now prominent belly, and chime,

"Good morning, little girl." Holly smiled and then gave a small jerk and a brilliant laugh as her hand moved to cover the kicking within her womb.

"She sure loves the sound of your voice," she smiled down at him.

"What's not to love?" he said, winking up at her. She playfully swatted his head and made her way to her seat across the table.

"Who's the new guy?" Holly asked, motioning flippantly towards her computer with one hand as the other reached to the large bowl at the center of the table to carefully select an apple.

"Just a new recruit that Puck wants me to have dinner with, try to get him to join up."

"He looks shifty." Holly mumbled around the huge mouthful of apple she had just bitten off. Sam laughed,

"You say that about all the people I interview." he smiled lovingly at her skepticism.

"I'm usually right, aren't I?" she quipped. "Hell, look at half of the people already on your squad! Santana always has that caged animal look about her, like if you rattle the bars a little bit she'll rip your face off."

"Ok," Sam pondered, "I'll give you Santana, but the rest of the guys are great!"

"Oh, I didn't say they weren't great," Holly corrected, "I even think Santana is great. But they are all shifty. I mean Puck has a temper that is worse than the bad side of awful, Artie holds a grudge like nobody's business, and even Brittany takes a little too much relish in what she does."

"Well..." Sam tried to come up with an argument but finally through up his hands in acquiescence. "I suppose you're right...as usual."

"It's why you love me," she smiled, standing and moving towards the refrigerator, giving him a kiss on the cheek that was sticky with apple juice on her way by. "But just promise me you'll be careful, ok?" she said, looking over her shoulder at him, her neat brows furrowed anxiously as they always were when he had to go off to work.

"I promise, love." He smiled reassuringly at her.

It had been a set up. The whole thing. He gripped the steering wheel tightly as he rocketed through the streets towards their development. When he hit the parking lot, his heart stopped. Puck's bungalow was in flames, and he, Artie, Santana, and Brittany stood helplessly watching it burn. Sam was out of the vehicle before it had even come to a full stop. He sprinted towards the huddled mass of his co-workers, stopping breathless before them, burning them with his eyes the way the fire scorched the remnants of Puck's house.

"Where is she!" he screamed at them, counting their numbers again and again, his mind unable to register that there were only four where there should have been five. Santana and Brittany's faces were stained with tears, and Brittany's white shirt was weeping deep red at the stomach and Santana's top lip was split on the side and she had a deep gash on her left cheek bone. Artie would not look him in the eyes, and might not have been able to anyway as his glasses lay shattered in his lap and one eye was an angry purple and swollen shut. Puck's shoulder hung limply out of the socket and his hands and forearms were covered with oozing, blistering burns. And his face was the hardest and most resigned Sam had ever seen.

"Puck!" he bellowed, surging forward and fisting the front of Puck's shirt.

"I don't...I don't know." Puck choked out. "We were across the street on the beach when Brittany smelled smoke. We saw the fire and we ran inside to try and put it out. He ambushed us. He stood and watched while his team beat us all unconscious. We woke up out here and we all ran to your house. We knew she was home alone. But she wasn't there. She wasn't in any of our places. That's when I called you. I don't know where she is...I don't know where...he would have taken her." He couldn't take it any longer. He released Puck and sprinted towards his own house. He burst through the door and ran to every room. When he finally made it to the bedroom, a solitary Tiffany's necklace box on their bed, stopped him in his tracks. He knew this box. This was the box from the emerald bracelet he had gotten Holly the day after he found out he was pregnant. The one he had had engraved with the the words, _You make my heart smile_. His heart hammering in his chest and his breath coming in rapid, stuttering gasps, he made his way to the box and delicately opened it. As soon as he saw the inside, his heart stopped, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he choked out a scream before he fell to the floor, unconscious.

Hearing the scream, the others ran inside the house. Puck was the first to find him on the bedroom floor, clutching the box. Santana and Brittany immediately fell to their knees to aid Sam and Puck removed the box from his hand. There, glued to the shiny black velvet, a full set of familiar, blood stained teeth spelled out the word, _Smile_.

Sam felt slender female hands flat against his chest and saw a swish of long blonde hair.

"Holly," he breathed, a smile immediately adorning his lips.

"Sam!" he heard bellowed harshly in his ears. "Sam, wake up!" His eyes snapped to focus and he saw Brittany, eyes swimming with fear, motioning for Santana to try and help right him. He blinked fearfully at the disparity between his memory and the present, and the tears immediately began to fall. Santana was on him, pressing his head firmly to her chest and stroking his hair gently as he sobbed against her.

"I know," she cooed, "I know." She looked at Brittany through stormy eyes and reached one hand out for her lover. She saw Brittany swallow hard and felt the firm squeeze of her fingers against her own.

"This is it, isn't it." Brittany murmured, low and steady, not asking, just stating.

"Yes," Santana heard herself say, "it is."


	7. Chapter 7

Fic 3 chap 7

After Sam's breathing became smooth and even and his eyes had dried, Santana moved from her position cradling him and stood, extending a hand downward to help him to his feet. He smiled weakly but gratefully, and took her hand. Once he was up, the two women sandwiched him between them; Santana holding his hand firmly and Brittany with an arm snug around his shoulders. Together, the trio moved back through the door into Puck's living room. The rest of the group was waiting silently; Artie and Puck looking solemnly concerned while Quinn had a look of irritated impatience and Rachel one of total disinterest. Mike's dark eyes were fixed unwaveringly in space and Joe watched them with a crisp perception that looked out of place on his laid back, loosely groomed form. Once the three nestled themselves on the couch, Puck cleared his throat,

"Now that we know what our goal is, it is time to go over our first dossier. This," he said, hitting a button on the small remote, instantly changing the image to a vivid one of a brightly smiling woman "is Josette Obier. She is an information broker working out of Paris. She operates under the guise of a company called Bouchard Realty. The reason I want to hit her first is because if we knock out their intel, we may be able to blind side the rest of them a bit. We cut the lights and leave them fumbling in the dark, so to speak. Now, for assignments. Quinn, I want you to find us a way in. You can use your contacts and Rachel to get access, Mike and Artie will work together to busy security and find a way in. Santana and Brittany will infiltrate with Joe as his body guards. Once in, you girls whack the bitch, then Joe, you set a device and burn that place to the ground. Sam, you and I will run communications and perimeter and determine an escape route and manage evac. Is everyone clear on what we are doing here? Any questions?" the room stayed silent for a moment before Brittany politely raised her hand.

"So, when we actually get to her, what should San and I be expecting, combat wise?" Puck nodded in approval of the question,

"Ah, yeah, good point. Well, on that matter, I couldn't find out too much. For the head of the worlds largest intelligence agency, she manages to keep a pretty low profile. However, she seems to be more business-chic so I wouldn't bring a bazooka or anything. But, always be prepared."

"Like the boy scouts!" Brittany chimed, and Sam, smiling once again, squeezed her hand and let out a thankful laugh, and the fog of tension that had been looming over the room ever since Finn's picture appeared on the screen, evaporated as quickly as it had settled.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Frere Jacque, Frere Jacque, dormez vouz, dormez vouz!" Santana could hear Brittany singing in a haphazard key at the top of her lungs as she collected both of their toiletries from their shared medicine chest over the sink in the bathroom adjoining their bedroom.

"Uh, B?" Santana called, poking her head back into the master bedroom to see Brittany bouncing giddily on her knees on their bed as she packed their shared suitcase.

"What's up, Buttercup?" Brittany chimed in answer, a cheshire cat grin nearly swallowing her face.

"What's with the song and dance?" Santana asked her partner curiously, although unable to help smiling at the blonde's bubbly demeanor.

"Uh, we're going to Paris, San! Duh!" Brittany said, knotting her eyebrows together and giving Santana a did-you-really-just-ask-that-question kind of look.

"Brittany," Santana said, shaking her head as she fully emerged from the bathroom and made her way towards the bed to throw the items she had gathered into the suitcase, "you do realize we aren't going on some sort of Bible camp retreat here? We are going to Paris to _murder_ someone." she said pointedly to the still beaming blonde.

"Well, I know that Santana, but we do that all the time. I mean, why should I let one minor detail like that ruin my vacation?"

"B!" Santana balked, "it's NOT a vacation!" Brittany only rolled her eyes and grabbed Santana's hands in hers, looking her firmly in the eyes as she spoke.

"Santana, take a breath. I am not some kind of deranged psychopath who doesn't understand the meaning of taking a life. Cough, Quinn." Santana couldn't help but smirk at that, "But I figure what better way to take my mind off the fact that I am about to assassinate another human being then by just treating it like I am simply going to be on vacation in Paris. Is that so bad?" Santana lifted Brittany's hands to her lips and placed soft kisses over her knuckles.

"No Britt Britt, it's not bad at all. I think I like it much better than dwelling and the days of guilt afterward." Brittany laughed at Santana's admittance of the soft side that only she got to see. "In fact," Santana purred, a deep, hungry look immediately consuming her eyes as she sidled on to the bed and looped her arms around the blonde's waist, "why don't we start our vacation right now?"

"Mmmm," Brittany hummed, pressing herself flush against Santana and leaning forward to nuzzle her nose against the Latina's, "that sounds like a fabulous idea." Santana moved without hesitation and swooped forward to place a scorching kiss to Brittany's lips. Enveloping Brittany's top lip between her own, she sucked gently and flicked out her tongue to let it dance along the sweet, pink flesh. Instantaneously, she was granted passage as Brittany's lips parted and Santana wasted no time, delving her tongue greedily into the other woman's mouth, swooping it over teeth and flicking it against her own tongue. Santana was rewarded with a moan which spurred her on even further. The Latina let her hands slide down Brittany's back to her butt, squeezing firmly. She felt the blonde giggle and smile into her kiss and couldn't help but squeeze again. Before Santana knew it, Brittany's hands were clawing at the fabric of her pink tee shirt and working fervently to slide it up over her head. Reluctantly releasing Brittany's ass from her grip, Santana lifted her arms above her head and let the blonde disrobe her. Not to be out-done, however, Santana placed her hands inside the collar of Brittany's plain, white v-neck and gaver her a devilish smirk.

"You wouldn't." Brittany teased her, raising her eyebrows in challenge and Santana knew that was permission. With one quick jerk of her hands in opposite downward angles, Brittany's shirt was ripped clean down the middle, exposing her taught abs and exquisite breasts, being housed in Santana's favorite lime green lace bra.

"Oh god," Santana mumbled at the sight, and Brittany's grin broadened at the effect she had on the other woman. However, the grin was almost immediately displaced when Santana surged forward, cupping the back of Brittany's thighs, and yanking them towards her, sending Brittany falling flat on her back on the mattress with a surprised shriek. Santana quickly reached down and removed Brittany's black shorts and placed a gentle kiss on the green, lace covered mound before working her lips back up the blonde's stomach, over the mounds of her breasts, and coming to rest on her neck, which was now arched and straining as Brittany writhed beneath the deep strokes of Santana's tongue and furious sucking of her lips. As she sucked, fully intending to leave a mark, Santana worked her hands beneath Brittany's back and unclasped the bra. As soon as she felt it spring free, she was sitting upright, fully removing Brittany of the shredded shirt and giddily tossing aside her bra.

"Ah, there they are," Santana chirped, deftly cupping Brittany's breasts as the blonde laughed at her enthusiasm. Brittany's laugh choked into a moan as Santana ran her thumbs over pert nipples and covered one with her mouth, flicking her tongue over the ripe, pink bud. Brittany laced one hand through Santana's hair, pressing the brunette's mouth firmly against her chest, and worked the other down her back, expertly undoing her black bra with a few simple flicks of her slender fingers. When Santana's bra had been tossed aside, Brittany moved the hand she had used to undo it to cup one of Santana's breasts, massaging it gently, while untangling the other from her raven locks and using it to rid Santana of her shorts, leaving her clad in only a barely-there black thong.

After paying both of Brittany's breasts equal, and very thorough attention, Santana lifted up and captured Brittany's lips, pressing their bare chests together and rolling her hips against Brittany's, winning a deep groan from Brittany who know grabbed Santana's ass and pressed her hips further against herself, desperate for any kind of friction. Happy to do more than that, Santana crept the hand that had been stroking the smooth skin of Brittany's sides, down her abdomen and into the top the the thin lace, stroking a finger firmly up the length of Brittany's folds, leaving off with a swift flick of her clit. Brittany canted her hips upward, panting into Santana's mouth as she continued to kiss her furiously. Santana slid her finger back down and teased Brittany's entrance, drawing soft circles and collecting the warm liquid that was pooling there. Not able to contain herself any longer, Brittany whined and and thrust her hands into Santana's hair, locking the brunette's black eyes on her own,

"Santana..._fuck_ me." Brittany's tone was dark and hot, fringed with desperation and it was all Santana needed. Without further ado, she thrust two fingers deep inside the blonde, burying herself to the knuckle, the palm of her hand butting furiously against Brittany's clit with every thrust.

Always wanting to resiprocate, Brittany swiftly cupped Santana, and slide the lace aside to draw her fingers through the moisture she found there up to Santana's hardened bundle of nerves, where she began to rub firm circles. Brittany relished the instant quiver of Santana's thighs and the way the Latina ground herself against her hand, but continuing to pound into Brittany as if it were her soul life focus.

Before long, Santana had scooted her body down and nestled herself between Brittany's legs. She removed the blonde's panties and a guttural moan escaped her lips and she eyed the glistening heat before her. She watched as she re-entered Brittany and her fingers were swallowed by the tight, thrumming, walls. No longer able to help herself, Santana surged forward and placed a hot, open mouth kiss to Brittany's clit. The blonde shrieked in pleasure, and Santana could feel the reverberating pleasure ripple through Brittany's body as her walls danced around Santana's digits. Working her free hand down to her own growing need, Santana worked circles just the way Brittany did as she continued to thrust with her hand and give long, firm strokes of her tongue. Within moments, Brittany's hand was in her hair,

"_Ooh, god yes. Fuck me, Santana. Uh...uh, yeee-ees!_" As Brittany's words became jolting and sharp, Santana could fill her begin to quiver and gave a hard sweep of her tongue and a curl of her fingers and Brittany was screaming her name as she came. Brittany's orgasm was like an electric current, shocking whatever was touching it and Santana felt the prickling heat race over her own skin and culminating between her legs, where her own hand, working furiously, became covered in sticky dampness as her own orgasm ripped through her.

Exhausted and exhilerated, Santana slowly removed her fingers and began to climb up the drowsy blonde. However, not making it far, she simply collapsed with her head on Brittany's stomach and the blonde lazily stroked her hair. Before she let herself drift off to sleep, Santana lifted her head to place a kiss to Brittany's sweat coated skin. However, her lips found the one patch of ragged history as they came down on the muscles just below Brittany's rib cage. The scar was no longer pink and angry as it had been in the months after the attack on Puck's home and the loss of Holly, but had faded to a resigned, but permanent white. Santana felt her throat tighten and her heart began to seize up as the gravity of their situation came flooding back to her in a wave of prickling anxiety. As Santana lowered her head once more to the flesh covered bone barrier that housed the steadily beating life, humming happily against her ear, she prayed desperately that the shiny tattoo, making itself known against her cheek, was the closest Finn Hudson would ever get to Brittany's heart.


	8. Chapter 8

This chapter is to provide a little clarity as to how Brittany got her scar. If you remember from the Sam chapter, he pulls up to the lot and all the group members have been injured and Brittany is bleeding from her abdomen. Here's a look at what happened. Hope you all enjoy and please review!

fic 3 chap 8

Santana followed Puck closely into his house, followed by Brittany and Artie just behind. She could smell the smoke and they set about the house, searching for the source. Brittany and Santana took towards the kitchen while Puck headed for the basement and Artie to the bedroom. Sinister thoughts still whirled in Santana's mind. Where is she? Where is Sam? Where could Finn have taken her? Will she come back? Sam will be crushed. How do I even look at Sam after this? The thoughts fired through her head a mile a minute, and with each new and terrifying one she squeezed Brittany's hand a little bit tighter. As they quickly realized there was no fire in the kitchen, the pair made their way back towards the living room. As Santana rounded the corner and saw Artie sprawled unconscious on the floor and Puck locked in a heated grapple with a man twice his size, Santana realized what was happening: another set up. Santana spun on her heels to tell Brittany to find cover, but her arms were firmly seized by two hulking henchmen. The red headed beast on her left nodded to his blonde, mo-hawked partner that had her right arm,  
"Hold tight," he growled, "she's not going to like this." And Santana quickly realized what his words had foreshadowed as Brittany was sent cartwheeling into view as the elbow of a hefty bald man collided sharply with her cheekbone. Spry as ever, Brittany sprang to her feet and turned to face her attacker, but before she could let fly with a fist, the giant that had been wrestling Puck locked his meaty hands firmly around her wrists and cranked them behind her back. Santana's panicked eyes flitted to where Puck had been battling only moments ago to see him now bloodied and blacked out on the floor near Artie. When Santana returned her gaze to Brittany, the mammoth holding her had turned them so the blonde faced her lover, and her worried blue eyes were locked on Santana's face. Santana held her gaze, never letting her steel facade break; she had to be strong for Brittany.  
"Isn't that just touching?" Santana heard the lazy voice emanating from the entryway to the kitchen. Finn Hudson walked lazily toward them, an apple in one hand and a large, glinting knife in the other. He sliced off a large chunk of fruit and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly and smiling contently as he appraised the two women.  
"Look at how much they love each other. Melts your heart, doesn't it boys?" the two holding Santana and the brute chaining Brittany smirked and chuckled. "Speaking of hearts," he continued, setting the apple down on a coffee table as he walked past it, closer to the two struggling women, "I've heard that Brittany has a pretty big one. An assassin with a heart. Just doesn't make sense to me." Finn circled in front of Brittany, and Santana could see the blonde set her jaw and stare daggers at Finn as he gazed at her. As she watched, Santana realized she was sweating. At first she thought it was from fear, but she soon realized that the heat was radiating out from her feet. The fire is in the basement. She had no sooner thought then she heard floorboards begin to moan and hiss under the fiery assault beneath them. We've got to get out of here. This whole place is going to come in on itself.  
"I just can't seem to believe, that someone that does the work that you do, can have a heart as kind, and pure as they say you do." Finn mocked, prodding his index finger into Brittany's sternum. "So, I decided i wanted to see for myself." He continued. Upon these words, he moved his hand down Brittany's front to the bottom of her shirt. Grabbing the hem, he lifted upward, rolling the fabric up and positioning it atop the ridge of Brittany's breasts, so that it wouldn't fall down.  
"Get away from her!" Santana screamed, and immediately began to struggle against her captors' hands. She pulled with all her might, every muscle in her body revealing itself in her strain, but the two men only gripped tighter. As Santana lunged and jerked, the floor beneath her made its protests known with a loud "pop" and Finn snapped towards her.  
"Sit tight, Santana. It won't take long. Don't want to be here when this place comes down, after all." With that, Finn drew the flank of his knife over Brittany's chest, down between her breasts, and Santana watched as she shivered against the cool, smooth metal and the way her ribcage expanded and died rapidly with her panicked breathing.  
"Well, lets see..." Finn contemplated, "I don't want to ruin this perfect chest. Congrats on that, Santana, by the way. So, I'll go in here." He placed the point of his knife on the soft flesh just below Brittany's left ribcage. "Now, just hold still for me." And he pressed down.  
"NOOOO! NO!" Santana's screams were ear piercing and her voice ripped and rattled in her throat. Brittany's screams matched her own as Finn dragged the knife across the protesting and spasming abdominal muscles, towards the center of her stomach and a thin, crimson line began to form in its wake. With all the fury of Hell, Santana raged against the henchmen. She gave one swift pull of her left hand, and was miraculously freed. The heat radiating from beneath the floor had caused her captors hands to sweat, and her skin slipped from his grasp. Without missing a beat, Santana's arm continued its forward motion and she stiffened her hand, fingers straight and together, leading with the heel of her palm. She thrust forward and up, sending the splintering bones of the bulky red head's nose rocketing up into his brain and he was dead before he hit the floor. Out of pure instinct, she ducked, and was glad she did upon seeing the other man's large fist barely skim over her head. Wasting no time, she swept her leg, bringing him crashing to the ground, and in one smooth swipe she had unsheathed the knife from her left boot and buried it in his forehead.  
And then the screaming came back to her ears.  
She turned, and the guard holding Brittany now had one hand holding her wrists together and the other wrapped firmly around her upper torso, trying to hold her still as her body wrenched against Finn. He continued to cut, paying no attention to Santana, and the wound was growing deep, as he restarted his incision, worming the blade into the already open wound, wriggling it deeper, Brittany's animal screams becoming louder and more uncontrolled with each vicious stroke.  
Santana rocketed herself towards Finn, fists clenched, ready to destroy. And at the last second, his knife clattered to the floor and he spun, and his fist collided directly with her mouth. She felt herself fall backwards and her collision with the floor knocked the wind out of her, but she immediately began to scramble to her feet. However, she hadn't gotten far when Finn's sneering face loomed over her body, foot on her chest, and his fist plummeted towards her, connecting with her cheekbone and sending her world into an explosion of light.  
Santana could smell the smoke. She could feel the heat hot on her back. She could taste the bitter, rusty taste of blood pooled in her mouth. But she could hear Brittany's voice. Though it was ragged, and hollow, she could hear it.  
"Santana...San-ugh." She heard brittle, whining breaths, squeaking near her ear, and she smelled Brittany's familiar, blossomy scent mixed with the smoke. It was like standing near a burning bed of lilies. She felt the hands on her shoulders,  
"Santana. Wake up. Santana." Her eyes opened and the bleary figure before her was all blonde hair and blue eyes.  
"B..." She muttered, not sure if it was only in her head or if she had managed to gurgle something intelligable around the thick, crimson swamp in her mouth.  
But the yelling got louder all the same.  
"Santana! Wake up!"

"SANTANA!" Brittany hollered, playfully peering into Santana's face as she shook the sleeping brunette's shoulders.  
"San, wake up! You fell asleep on me, and I think my vagina has gone to sleep. I love you, but pleeeaaasseee move!" Brittany giggled as she looked down at the baffled Latina. Santana felt the smooth skin of Brittany against her own body. The blossomy smell was there, but there was no smoke. The heat was there, but it was the gentle warmth from Brittany's body. The scar was there, but there was no blood. But Finn Hudson was still there. He was in the cruel edges of that scar. He was in the way Brittany jerked and whimpered in her sleep. He was in the way she winced when she stretched or took a deep breath. And he was in every one of Santana's deepest, darkest nightmares. 


	9. Chapter 9

**So sorry for the delay everyone! School is absolutely nuts this year, so you'll forgive me if there are gaps I hope. This chapter will be short, but the next will be longer and the gang will be off to their first mission in Paris. Enjoy and please review.**

**Chapter 9:**

Quinn Fabray was not a forgiving woman. The blood boiled up into her face as she watched the pair walk towards the plane from her seat next to the window. Santana's hand rested low on the tall blonde's back, her lips parted in a wide smile. She had never smiled at Quinn that way, not once in the three years they had been together. This new smile was warm, full, real. It played upon her lips like a tree bowing gracefully to the breeze that was Brittany's gaze. When Santana had smiled at Quinn, it had been guarded and non-committal. It had been afraid. Quinn always knew that Santana had been afraid of her. Santana had always tried to hold on to her heat, to the fire burning within her that unleashed itself in scorching, licking words and fists when she was threatened. But Quinn was a glacier. A mountain of cold, black, ice, and Santana burned too hot and short to melt her down, to reach the small, warm pool within her. And now, seeing Santana that way, languishing her love upon Brittany, Quinn felt as though she were drowning in her own pool. But Quinn Fabray's response to drowning wasn't fear; it was rage.

As Santana and Brittany entered the small plane and walked down the aisle, past Quinn and Rachel, who's sprightly chatter Quinn had automatically tuned out, Quinn grabbed Rachel by the neck and pulled her toward her, stifling her incessant chatter with her own tongue, plundering Rachel's mouth and claiming all that was hers. Quinn grinned into Rachel's lips as she heard an uncomfortable clearing of Santana's throat and could feel her coffee eyes on her as she passed. It was still there. She knew it. Some of the residual spark still crackled and barked within Santana and Quinn knew that she was just the conductor rod to bring it screaming out in all its white hot glory.

The only problem was Brittany. The bubbly blonde was an unexpected wrench in the works. Quinn had been watching her, ever since her arrival, and she knew that Brittany had been watching her as well. But, much to her pleasure, Brittany's gaze did not hold the fear and apprehension that it rightly should have, but instead, a keen interest that Quinn intended to take full advantage of. She knew she would not be able to draw Santana away from Brittany. But Brittany from Santana? That might be another story. And if Brittany succumbed, she knew Santana would crumble, and the only thing left would be for Quinn to pick up the pieces and put her back together just the way she wanted.

Quinn was drawn out of her daze by the prodding lips of the minute brunette next to her. Quinn grunted and shirked her off, sitting straighter in her seat and locking her eyes on the ground skating beneath them as they took off. They were going there to kill, but Paris was supposed to be the City of Love. And Santana, Quinn knew, was a hopeless romantic at heart.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey party people, finals are over and I am officially on break! The writing shall officially commence again! I hope you enjoy, I am so happy to be back **** This chapter will paint a little picture of the first villain is going to encounter. Please review!**

Josette Obier loved tattoos. She loved everything about them; the gloss of the fresh ink on her milky white skin, the deep, scorching burn of the needle over her nerves, the angry red skirting the design after its completion. She loved them so much that she had given herself her first one at the age of 15, much to her mother's dismay. She had sat at her desk with the old ink gun she bot from a run down tattoo parlor, sweating and grinning over the palm of her left hand and then over the palm of her right. When she was done, shining obsidian back at her from across her palms, right to left, so when she turned her palms outward they could be properly read, in flowing black cursive was written, "Fuck Off". Her mother had screamed and stomped when she saw the permanent expletive, and Josette, had simply waved palms out with both hands to her as she packed her things and moved out. The next tattoo came on her 21st birthday. This one, a detailed likeness of the Eifel Tower stretched from just under the right side her jaw, down her neck and over the top of her shoulder. The third and final tattoo, cam at 23; this one formed an arch from the tip of one hit bone to another, dipping low over the top of her pelvic bone and it read, "_Bienvenue __à__ Paris_". She was proud of each and every one of them, and planned to add to her flesh gallery whenever possible. In the mean time, she was perfecting her own skills in tattooing.

Currently, her practice was trained on the sweating, crinkling forehead of the middle aged man bound to the wood slotted chair in her office. She gave the last sweeping strokes of the gun over his tensed skin and wiped away the remaining droplets of blood and excess ink before stepping back and proudly observing her work. The man blinked furiously, the sweat dripping from his eyelids, and he could just make out her deceptively waifish figure, garbed in a form fitting, strapless cream dress that had a bold band of black fabric belted about her slender waist. Her hair, short, platinum blonde, and gelled to standing into static points that reminded him achingly of the torturous needle that had finally relented its assault on his skin.

"Oui," she smiled, walking towards him once again, her high heels clicking on the hard wood floor of her 15th floor office. "It eez done. Do you like it Monsieur Allard? Ere, you can see for yourself." She grabbed a hand held mirror off of her stainless steel desk and held it, grinning a startlingly white smile, over him so he might see her handiwork. He simply closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, as a painful mix of sweat, blood, and running jet black ink trickled into his eyes. Her smile vanished and the corners of her mouth careened downward in disappointment. "Hé!" she slapped his cheek sharply, "look at eet!" His eyes fluttered open and a groan escaped his lips as he saw the thick, block numbers staining his brow. "You like eet, n'est-ce pas? You see, Monsieur Allard, these numbers, they are not just a random date. Today eez, what, eet's the fifteenth of January, 2013? Well, than that gives you approximately, oh, seventh months? Because, you see, Monsieur Allard, this date? Yes, this date right here on your sweaty old _front_," she emphasized the word with a sharp flick of her fingers to the center of his brow, and he hissed sharply, wincing under the touch, "this date, eet eez the day that you die." The man's grey eyes flew open and they were absolutely frozen with fear.

"Wha…what?" he stammered.

"Oh, oui, Monsieur Allard, eet eez the day you die. You know, as well as I do, that in my business, I cannot afford to give people faulty information. You see, eet makes me look very bad." She set the mirror down and walked slowly around the back of her deck, opening the top drawer, from which she pulled a cigarette, the casing died jet black, and placed the ebony stock between her lips. She plucked a match from a box in the drawer, and closing it, sauntered back towards a paralyzed Allard.

"And you, vous, you gave me bad information. And this information, it nearly got one of my clients killed. And, reasonably, he has dropped my services. When I lose a client, I look a fool." She bent so close to his face that he could smell the sweet, unlit tobacco in her cigarette. She toyingly rolled the match between the fingers of her right hand, twirling it right in front of his eyes. "I may be many things, Monsieur Allard, but a fool I am not!" She spat into his face, and sweeping the cupped fingers of her right hand across his stubbled cheek, she slapped him, and the match, tucked neatly against her fingers, struck against the friction of his stubble. Smirking at the stunned look on his face, she lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply before flicking the match out and discarding it in the trash can next to her desk.

"Eet eez a neat trick, non?" She smiled at him and removed the cigarette from between her lips, straightening herself and looked down her fine, sharp nose at him. "Eet eez not my only trick though. I have many tricks, it is important, in my business. I have tricks that let me see everyone, but they never see me. That goes for you too, Monsieur. I've been to your house before. Do you know that? Eet eez lovely, really. Although, I don't care for the blue paint in your sitting room." Josette smiled gratefully and took a long drag of her cigarette as she saw Allard's brow crease and his lower lip tremble in astonished fear. "Ah, but that eez not all, Monsieur!" She exclaimed happily, prancing over to her desk and sitting down on it. "I have much more for you, oui! While I don't care for the color of your sitting room, I do think that your dog, Margot, she is rather adorable. Oui, très mignon. She has a wheat allergy, non? That must be very expensive to feed her."

"How do you…?" Allard stammered, his eyes flashing over her delighted face.

"Eet eez all in a days work, you see. Eet eez my job to be well informed. And people like you, people who give me bad information, they just make my job harder than eet already eez. That is why I cannot let you live. Well, at least not past August 23rd." She hopped sprightly off her desk, snubbing out her cigarette in the large crystal ashtray on her desk, then walked over to the chair and began neatly undoing Allard's restraints.

"Until then, however, you are free. Free to know, every time you look in the mirror, that those numbers, reflected back at you, are the day you die. Free to tell everyone who enquires about your tattoo that that, eez the day you die." As the last of his restraints came undone, Allard sprang to his feet, and Josette smiled sweetly up at him from her diminutive five feet three inches.

"If you will just hold on one second, Monsieur Allard." She skipped lightly around her desk and pressed the intercom button on her phone. "Rachel, vous venez ici s'ill vous plaît?"

"Oui!" An exceptionally bubbly voice chirped over the intercom. Seconds later, a petite brunette with big, brown, bedroom eyes entered through the large wooden door.

"Rachel, would you please validate Monsieur Allard's parking?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Had a wonderful time writing this chapter. The next one will be action packed, so buckle up. Please enjoy as always, and please review :)**

**Chapter 11:**

"Saaaaan, I'm booooorreeed." Brittany moaned, spinning idly in the flimsy desk chair of their hotel room. Santana looked up from sharpening her knives, peering up from under the thin black frames of her glasses and she couldn't help but giggle at the moping blonde.

"I know you are B, but it's a waiting game until Rachel is done with her 'role of a lifetime' as Frenchy's secretary. We can't just go busting in there until we know that place inside and out. And, as much as I hate her, I have to admit that dwarf has got some serious balls snooping around that place. If she gets caught...let's just say I don't wanna be the one to do clean up for that."

"I know, I know," Brittany sighed, stretching her legs out to stop the chair. "I just hate this waiting around. All I do is dwell on what we have to do, what could go wrong." Santana heard her voice falter over the word "wrong" and she looked up to see Brittany's eyes trained on the floor, the sky blue orbs glazed with worry. Frowning, Santana removed her glasses and placed them on her desk, wiping the knife polish from her hands with a rag as she stood up. She squatted down in front of the blonde and cupped her chin in her hand, pulling it up so she could look straight into her eyes.

"Hey, look at me," she smiled confidently, "nothing is going to go wrong. I promise. I mean that's why we are waiting so long, to make sure that nothing goes wrong. Trust me, ok?" Brittany smiled and nodded and Santana leaned in and pressed her lips lightly to the blonde's. Santana felt the frost of fear on Brittany's skin immediately begin to thaw at the warm touch of her lips. Santana yelped in surprise when Brittany threw herself from the chair, full force, toppling the crouching brunette and sending their bodies sprawling to the carpet in a tangle of limbs. Brittany burst into a fit of raucous laughter at the wide-eyed Santana tousled beneath her.

"What was that for?" Santana yelped. Brittany only giggled and bent her head, beginning to press deep, hot kisses to the length of Santana's neck.

"Oh," Brittany could hear the grin in Santana's voice. "Well, you could have just asked nicely though," she feigned scolding.

"Well, I'm very sorry," Brittany cooed against Santana's caramel skin. "I suppose I'll just have to find some way to make it up to you." With this, Brittany reached a hand back and slid her palm from the top of Santana's bent knee, teasingly slowly down her thigh, until she gently cupped the Latina through her tight, black, knit pants. "Would here be a good place to start?" Brittany questioned with a smirk.

"You're too much, you know that?" Santana said, but Brittany could hear the husky arousal in her voice. She smiled, pleased with her ability to send Santana from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds, and applied light pressure with her hand, eliciting a grateful moan from the woman unsuccessfully attempting composure beneath her.

Santana could retain her poise no longer when Brittany removed her hand briefly, but only to slide it inside Santana's pants. Santana groaned loudly and flipped them with one fluid movement, topping the blonde eagerly.

"No panties, Lopez?" Brittany quirked an eyebrow and her mouth wriggled furiously as she tried frantically to keep her arrogant smirk from escaping into a full-blown grin.

"I'm in Paris." Was the brunette's immediate response, and all of Brittany's efforts to keep a straight face were sent tumbling into oblivion and she erupted into a fit of laughter.

"I'm hilarious, I know." Santana smiled. "However, I'll do stand-up for you later. Right now, though, would you mind getting back to business?" She bucked her hips forward and the fingers that had been resting lazily within her pants were coated in sticky warmth as they brushed against her center. Brittany's blue eyes were immediately flared black as her pupils exploded with arousal. She sat upright, so Santana was straddling her lap, and used her free hand to roughly grab the back of her lovers neck and crash their lips together in a searing, biting kiss.

"Mmm, Britt" Santana moaned into her mouth, and Brittany used the opening to rush her tongue against the Latina's. Santana responded immediately, sucking ravenously on Brittany's tongue and knotting her fingers in silky blonde locks. Their mouths battled against each other for several minutes until they broke apart, chests heaving, gasping for air.

"Off. Now." Santana tugged aggressively at the bottom of Brittany's green t-shirt.

"Help me out." Brittany ordered. "I've only got one hand, remember?" and as a teasing reminder she gave a firm flick of Santana's clit. Santana's hips lurched forward and she nodded rapidly, immediately pulling the shirt up over Brittany's head and off her free arm, then carefully slid it down the arm that was still nestled inside the brunette's pants, stopping when she reached Brittany's wrist.

"I've got to take my hand out to get it off," Brittany said, beginning to withdraw her hand. Like lightning, Santana's hand was clasped around Brittany's wrist, halting her retreat.

"Not worth it. It'll fall off later." With that, she launched herself at the blonde and began placing hard, nipping kisses along her exposed neck and shoulders, deftly reaching up and undoing the clasp of, what was thankfully, a strapless white bra. She gratefully took Brittany's breasts in her hands, gently fondling the milky flesh and flicking her thumbs over the already alert, pink nipples. Brittany growled with pleasure, and used her free hand to tug annoyedly at Santana's own blue Henley.

"Off, off, off, off," she whined, unable to successfully remove the garment with her current handicap. Santana giggled but, retracted her hands and removed her shirt hurriedly, then replaced them to Brittany's breasts with lightning speed.

"Thank you very much," Brittany chirped. "This," she smiled, finding the clasp of Santana's red bra, "I can handle though," and she snapped it open with a precise movement of her thumb and two forefingers and tugged it upwards, Santana once again reluctantly relinquishing her hold on Brittany to raise her arms and allow the piece of clothing to be removed.

"Much better," Brittany grinned, and surged forward, taking a dusky nipple in her mouth.

"Oh god," Santana moaned, arching her back, pressing herself against Brittany. The blonde sucked gingerly and swirled her tongue around the excited nub, relishing in the softness of Santana's skin and the deep, lush scent of her perfume. Brittany regrettably loosed the nipple and kissed toward the other one to pay it its due.

"Mmm, that feels so good baby," Santana sighed, her hands now in the blonde's hair, clutching her too her. Brittany hummed against Santana and gave a firm sweep of the fingers still buried inside the black fabric, and Santana yelped in pleasure.

"Ok, I'm sorry, the clothes have _got_ to go," Santana practically yelled in her aroused frenzy. Brittany pulled her mouth from the Latina's chest giggling.

"I couldn't agree more." Painfully, she removed her hand from Santana's pants and they both frowned like disappointed children, but immediately began to shed themselves of their remaining clothing. Within instants, Brittany's grey sweatpants and her underwear, along with the t-shirt still dangling on her wrist, were strewn across the floor and Santana's black pants flew to join them.

Both bare bodied and practically quivering with arousal, the two women lingered on the floor for a moment, their eyes drinking in the stark naked glory of one another. Then, in a knot of limbs, and hair, and lips, they were upon one another. Once again, Santana straddled Brittany's waist and the blonde could feel the tacky heat of her arousal pressed against the flesh of her lower belly. As their lips met in a slow, passionate kiss, Brittany slid one hand up Santana's thigh, letting it come to a stop with a firm squeeze of Santana's ass. The other hand, that had been resting on the brunette's neck, skated down over her chest, the brush of her fingertips against a pert nipple sending a shiver through Santana's figure, and down the quivering, tanned, muscles of her belly until it came in contact with a small patch of tight, raven curls. Santana broke their kiss, her hands cupping Brittany's face gently but firmly, and she stared into waiting blue eyes. She drank in the crisp, powerful sapphire that Brittany's irises took on when they made love. The way her eyes searched Santana's face, as if she were taking mental pictures, cataloging the ridge of her cheekbones, the plush pillow of her lips, the russet fire of her eyes. When Santana thought that the love flaming up between them might burn down the hotel were it let to roam any longer, she nodded, and it was all the confirmation Brittany needed. Leaning forward, the blonde slid her fingers gently inside the brunette in time with her thin lips capturing Santana's full bottom one. Santana released a shaking breath as Brittany filled her and began to thrust gently. Santana looped her arms around Brittany's shoulders, crushing their lips and bodies together, and she began to rock her hips into the blonde's hand. The heat between them, their muscles wound so tight in precise, powerful thrusts, began to form a sheen of sweat over their skin, glittering like dew over sand and snow.

Soon, Santana could feel the jittering, urgent heat coiling low in her belly.

"B," she moaned, her lips trembling against the soft, heated skin of Brittany's throat. Brittany knew that desperateness, that almost fearful exposition in Santana's voice, and she clutched tightly against Santana's lower back, pressing her firmly against her, and gave a deep, final thrust. Santana's breath hitched in her throat and her head fell backwards as her body shuddered, crashed into waves. Brittany held her tight, and let Santana collapse, entirely unwound into her arms.

"I love you," Santana's voice was thin and tired, but words had never been so strong. Brittany kissed Santana's cheek, as the brunette's head rested against her shoulder and she gently stroked the wavy raven locks that hung down her back.

"I love you more," and she could feel Santana's smile against her neck, mimicking her own. They sat their like that, holding each other, in no hurry to separate or to break the illusion that it was just them, alone together, no world outside that called for anything besides flesh and love.

But the bubble burst with three sharp wraps on the door.

"Santana, Brittany. Rachel just got here. Meet in my room in ten minutes for debriefing. It's time to move." Puck's voice was urgent and irrefutable. Santana sighed, and kissed Brittany's neck, slow and firm, because they both knew what the break meant. As they pulled apart, their eyes locked.

"You ready?" Brittany asked, her mouth a hard line. She watched Santana's eyes take on a hardness like jet black marble, but her mouth worked into a jubilant grin. The contrast was what always frightened Brittany, broke her heart every time.

"Always," Santana said, pushing herself up and walking to their suitcase to pull out clothes. Brittany considered taking a quick shower, but she thought better of it. What better reminder was there to stay alert and stay alive walking into this mission than the smell of Santana still on her skin?


End file.
